


A Real Family

by Not_You



Category: Watchmen (Comic), Watchmen - All Media Types
Genre: Adoption, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Babies, F/M, Family Feels, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Mental Health Issues, POV Child, Prostitution
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-02
Updated: 2017-05-02
Packaged: 2018-10-26 23:11:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,842
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10796718
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Not_You/pseuds/Not_You
Summary: In which Hollis seeks out Sylvia Kovacs in a professional capacity, and ends up taking baby Walter off of her hands.





	1. Chapter 1

He doesn't even want to be here. Nite Owl shouldn't need to lay out twenty bucks to grapple with some redheaded whore on a dirty mattress. A New York city police officer shouldn't be doing this either, but that stings less, since it was that dirty bastard Ericson that put him onto this place. The guys who hang out around this building give him the creeps, and the thought of being one of them nearly sends him back down the stairs, but he needs this. Just someone else's warmth, a woman's scent and soft skin are what he really craves. The rest is almost unnecessary. He's a late arrival and if she's tired out he's perfectly willing to settle for a handjob. 

Not for the first time he curses his life, where the mask has brought him just close enough to the perfect girl to see what he can't have almost every single day. He groans, leaning against the wall beside the door, his arm over his eyes as he firmly reminds himself that he is not a monster. He's just going to buy what this girl is selling. This isn't one of those operations in Texas with poor little Mexican girls chained to the beds. Hell, as near as he can tell there isn't even a pimp involved in this situation, which puts her in a more fortunate place than a lot of hookers.

She knows she should've locked the fucking door. Sylvia gets up from her bed and straightens out her nightgown, hoping it's a customer and not the fuzz. Glancing in the mirror tells her that her hair looks like shit, and she calls, "Hang on a second!" as she lights a cigarette, tucks it into the corner of her mouth, and gets the tangles to look more like curls. She glances over at the corner of the room, where the kid is tucked out of sight. A few drops of whiskey had finally shut up his crying, and she hopes it'll hold, because if she plays her cards right, this one will make her rent. She throws on a little more perfume and fixes her lipstick before heading out to see what she's dealing with.

He's cute. This is such a welcome revelation that when she smiles, it reaches her eyes. "Hey, baby," she says. "Come on in." 

He lets her take his hand as obediently as a lamb or one of those milky-soft little kids whose mothers don't turn tricks. Sometimes the cute, soft-spoken ones are the real perverts, but this one seems all right. He understands that she's not his damn girlfriend, but talks enough to be friendly as he's getting his clothes off and doesn't bitch about the price. His hands are gentle, but he's got the sense not to try to kiss her on the mouth. He's not so damn big that she has to pretend to like pain, but not so small she doesn't notice him, either. Sure, it takes him a minute to get started (he says he doesn't like rubbers, but she can tell it's his first time doing anything like this and is just glad he's not trying to blame it on her), but he eats her pussy for a few minutes, which is cool and soothing after a long night and something she's always willing to throw in for free, and that seems to help a lot.

Afterward, Sylvia relights her cigarette and offers Hollis one. He waves it away, feeling too deeply relieved even to be ashamed of himself. The tension has gone out of muscles he didn't even know he had. He carefully strips off the rubber and throws it away, staggering to his feet to get his pants on and go wash his face in the little adjoining bathroom, where he meets his eyes in the mirror and reminds himself that he hasn't done anything particularly objectionable here tonight. He nearly jumps out of his skin when he hears the sudden squall, and wonders how he can possibly call himself a cop if he can go into a room this small and have a whole live baby escape his notice. Especially one with a set of lungs this good. Christ Almighty, what a howler! Wincing, he cleans up and then claps his hands to his ears, heading back in to get his shirt. 

Sylvia is glaring flatly at the baby with so much sullen hate in her eyes that it makes him feel a little sick. She's just watching a blanket over what looks like never-unpacked moving crates. All he can see of the baby is shifting in the blanket, little clumsy little hands are trying to get rid of it. He looks to the kid's mother again, but she's still just sitting there, smoking, hoarding each inhale for a long time before she lets it go. It's no contest, and Hollis breaks first and flips the blanket back. It's the ugliest baby he's ever seen, and its looks aren't helped by a shock of red hair and the nearly purple hue of its face from bawling.

"You figure he's hungry?"

"Dunno."

Pretty certain he'll get no argument from her, he scoops the baby up and cradles it against his chest. It's a skinny little thing, with a voice eight times its size. It gentles a little as he rocks it, and when he offers it the tip of his little finger it latches on and sucks hungrily.

So he asks if she's got a bottle handy. She can't believe this fucking guy. She fixes one up while he keeps the brat quiet, walking slowly around the kitchen. He's a lot better at it than she is, and she thinks that maybe he likes babies the way girls are supposed to. That unlike just about every guy she's met that wasn't a faggot, he wants to protect something little and helpless, instead of smashing, drowning, or fucking it. He's rocking Walter now, singing something very, very softly. She thinks it might be "Mockingbird", but she can't tell. Her throat tightens up a little, because she's never sung to Walter anymore than her mother did to her.

She lets him handle the bottle, afraid to break the spell. If she takes Walter back, he'll transform into a shrieking ball of flailing limbs and howl until dawn. He's done it before, but you wouldn't know it to look at him now. He's a pain in the ass, but she feels a little guilty to see how fast the formula level is dropping. She guesses it has been a while, and yawns and leans against the fridge. She knows better than to nod off, but it happens anyway. The guy has all the time in the world to do any fucked up thing to her or the brat, or to rob her blind, but when she opens her eyes again he's still there, and Walter is still quiet. Hell, he's asleep again, knocked out as sure as if she'd given him more whiskey.

When she asks if he wants to keep him, Hollis has no idea how to react. What the hell do you say to something like that? Especially when you can tell it's said in deadly earnest, no matter how much it sounds like a tasteless joke. When she responds to his hesitation by saying that there's nothing wrong with him and that she'll give him Walter's birth certificate, he nearly chokes. They talk in circles for a long time, but when he's sure she's serious, he decides he'd better take her up on it. He kinda likes the little guy anyway, which seems to be more than his mother can dredge up for him, the poor little bastard. 

He leaves much later than he meant to, burdened with formula and bottles and baby clothes and wondering what in the hell he's doing. In the apartment above him, Sylvia Kovacs locks her door, changes her sheets, and lies down in an ecstasy of solitude. The night rolls on into morning for both of them, and Hollis is stretched out on the couch, Walter asleep on his chest. He picks up the phone carefully to keep from waking the baby, and calls in to work with a family emergency. 

Thirty-five years from now he peels a shifting black and white mask from those sharp, homely features and pulls his son into his arms, holding Walter and Rorschach together.


	2. Chapter 2

1940  
In the end, he takes the kid to Minutemen HQ, not knowing what else to do. Within in an hour he’s Eddie’s little man and Sally’s lamb and Ursula’s pet. Even Larry is willing to hold him, gently cooing, “Yes, you’re an ugly little bastard and if you piss on me I swear to god I’ll kill you.” Bill has helpful things to say about pinning diapers and stretching a food budget as Walter hangs onto Byron’s feelers, and stares at him with serious, ageless eyes.

-

1946  
“Hollis, where’s my mother?”

He’s actually been expecting this question for a while, but since he’s barely through the door after a long shift he just ruffles Walter’s mop of red curls and heads past him into the kitchen. “I’ll tell you, but let me get us a drink first.” He hangs up his hat, peels off his jacket and grabs a beer for himself and a glass of milk for Walter, who obediently scrambles into one of the kitchen chairs. Hollis sets the milk in front of him and slumps into the other chair, yawning. He’s not quite sure how to phrase this, and he frowns slightly. “Your mother gave you to me because… because she was sick.” He sighs, rubbing his face. “I don’t know if you’re old enough to understand.”

“Did she die?" he asks, his husky little voice very serious.

“No, it wasn’t the kind of thing you die of.” He sits up straighter, unbuckling his shoulder holster and setting it on the table. He has never hit Walter, beyond a swat on the ass when the kid led him on a chase through a subway station and just about scared him to death, but they both know he’ll wear Walter out if he so much at puts a fingertip on that gun. “If people treat you badly, you can turn mean, right?” Walter nods. “As far as I’m concerned, that’s a kind of sickness. I think her mother had made her sick, and she knew she’d do the same thing to you if she kept you.”

“…Did she love me?”

Hollis is afraid he might cry. “Yeah, kiddo.” He reaches across and chucks Walter under the chin, smiling at him. “She figured I’d do better by you, so she gave you to me. That’s love, true enough.” He’s pretty sure that this is a damn dirty lie and that Sylvia just wanted to get rid of him any way she could, but there are truths you can’t tell to someone who’s not much more than three feet high. Anyway, he know it’s her loss as Walter’s eyes light up.

-

1949  
Walter is a little scared to hold the baby at first, but Sally molds his arms into the right shape and tucks Laurel Jane into them with such serenity that he shuts up and rocks her gently. She’s the polar opposite of his own infancy, all fat and happy. Hollis would bet good money that she’s never had colic, and winces to remember the long, bleary stretches of sleeplessness staying up with Walter while the poor kid howled and howled. Now his stomach seems to be made of cast iron, and nothing bothers him. Watching him study Laurel Jane, Hollis wonders for the millionth time whether the kid will beat the odds and turn out good-looking after all. There’s something beautiful in his eyes and his hands, and Sally smiles. She’s leaning against the counter beside Hollis, sipping her coffee.

“How’s the kid?”

“Growing like a weed, reading the entire library and eating whole horses. You know, the usual.”

She laughs. “He’s a sweetheart," she says, as Walter settles into an armchair with his new best friend, settling her dark, wispy head more comfortably on his skinny arm. “You keep him that way, Hollis.”

“Doing my best, Sal.” 

-

1956  
Laurie holds Walter’s hand as they cross the street, and then keeps holding it because it feels nice. She’s so glad he came by today. Mom and Dad are fighting worse than ever, and it’s good to get out of the house and out of the yard and all the way down the block to get ice cream. She grins up at him, showing the gap where her front teeth used to be, and he smiles back. She likes the way it makes his eyes crinkle at the corners. He asks how school is going and she tells him all about Mrs. Gates and how she doesn’t like Mom or Laurie, and about the class guinea pig, whose name is Pepper and can do tricks. Unlike most older people, who laugh at kids, Walter listens quite seriously. He’s like Uncle Hollis that way, and she guesses it makes sense. She knows they’re not really related, which is why they look nothing alike, (this makes her wonder about Dad a _lot_ , since she looks about as much like him as Walter looks like Hollis) but they act alike, which is much more important.

Her musings on paternity are cut short by their arrival at their destination, and she tears into a very small strawberry sundae as Walter sucks the marshmallows out of a scoop of Rocky Road, nodding sagely as she relates all the other travails of second grade.

-

1957  
In third grade they’re not living with Dad anymore, and she hates Kathleen Gilbert with every bone in her little body. She’s never seen Walter so sad, and she knows Kathleen made him that way. She’s well aware that she’s not really someone who knows about boyfriends, but she can’t imagine Walter being a bad one, and when he finally comes out of hiding to pick her up at school, she’s thrilled. She settles comfortably on one end of the massive bench seat of Hollis’s car, and he drives off in silence. After a while she tells him how glad she is that he’s coming out again, and is immediately sorry at the look on his face.

“Sorry, Laurel Jane. I know I should’ve been around these last few days.”

“It’s okay.” She pats his knee and renews her vow to wait outside the high school for as long as it takes to kick that bitch in the shins.

-

1960  
The news of Dr. Manhattan knocks Walter down and kicks him for a while. He has no way to explain, even to Hollis, exactly why he’s crying. He just knows like he knows his own name that no one will ever try as hard as they can again. No one except for him, and the loneliness is enough to kill him.

-

1962  
Hollis is glad to hang it all up and go back to cars, and Walter is happy to come with him. He gets his own little hut in the back of the lot for privacy, and free run of Hollis’s kitchen so he doesn’t starve to death. He’s a natural for delicate tasks, with his deft hands and rigid perfectionism, but he he also has the right kind of constructive violence. There are times when all you need to do to make something work is to hit it with a wrench.

-

1964  
He should’ve expected his son to put on a mask. He’s got to admit it’s a beauty, but there are no words to express the grief he feels when he catches Walter sneaking in through the window at six am.

“…You could’ve told me.” Walter just stares at the floor. “It’s that Genovese woman, isn’t it?” After he had gotten the news, Walter had lurked in his room for days, gone on long walks alone at night, and otherwise acted like a burgeoning masked hero. It’s never any good trying to cheer him up, so Hollis had opted to wait him out, and now wishes he’d done more.

“…Can’t stop thinking about her.” His voice is more hoarse than ever. “Can’t stop thinking about this city, Hollis.”

He sighs. “I’m in no position to stop you. You’re a legal adult and I’ve done it myself, but for Christ’s sake be careful.” He goes and gets them each a beer. Walter looks mystified when he hands it to him, and Hollis smiles faintly, clicking the bottles together. “To your career. What are you calling yourself?”

“Rorschach.”

“Stylish.” He admits, sitting down at the table and gesturing for Walter to join him. “Can you move all right in all that, though?”

“Move fine.” He sits down and pulls his mask up to drink. “Not going to run around in the lower half of a woman’s bathing suit.” He grins. “Even if I wanted to, my legs aren’t nice enough.” 

-

1965  
Hollis will admit to himself that he’s thinking of Dan as a partner for Walter when he invites him over. It makes him beyond edgy to think about his boy out there with no one to guard his back, so he he’s hoping to god they’ll hit it off. Besides, if he’s gonna pass on the Nite Owl name he should at least meet the kid in person. He fusses around in the kitchen and hopes Dan can find the place all right. And that if he can’t, he won’t take bad directions for a test and refuse to stop and call for better ones. 

At least Walter is sure to be late anyway, since he’s out back with his new girlfriend, a stately old ’39 Packard that Hollis saw at an estate auction and couldn’t possibly resist. According to her besotted swain, her name is Josephine. Hollis supposes he does see a slight resemblance to the inimitable Miss Baker, since the car is black and beautiful and probably doesn’t care what anyone in the whole wide world thinks of it. It’s a bittersweet thought, since Byron had always been one of her biggest fans.

Dan shows up before Walter does, all flustered apologies and hands that don’t know what to do with themselves. Hollis wonders if he was ever that young, and welcomes him in with a smile. He’s not sure what he’s expecting, but within five minutes they’re talking about Captain Axis and the day he took over all the local radio signals to broadcast Hitler’s speeches over and over, and how while he and Captain Metropolis had been trying to tackle him, they’d accidentally hit something that put the record on double speed, making the Fuhrer sound sort of like Donald Duck. When he gets to the end of the story and the roast is obviously done and Walter still hasn’t turned up, Hollis sends Dan to fetch him.

Walter is humming tunelessly as his thin, tough fingers bury themselves in Josphine’s innards. He’s looking for a cracked hose, and he’s not going to rest until he finds it, no matter how hungry he is. It goes to show that his concentration is absolute, because Dan isn’t trying to be stealthy but still goes unheard.

“Walter?” 

He jumps, banging his head on the hood and cursing as he stands back and straightens up. The owner of the voice is big and bashful and reminds Walter a little of Hollis’s stories about Bill Brady. He judges people by their hands and by their voices. This voice makes him feel that his name is safe in its owner’s mouth, and the stranger’s hands are large and paradoxically delicate. They look like the hands of man who builds things, and Walter can respect that. “Hollis sent me to get you.”

“Ah.” He wipes his hands off on a rag and stretches his back. “Sorry if I’ve kept you waiting.”

“No, it’s been fine.” He’s watching Walter curiously, and it’s a little bit like the cop scan Hollis can still do, but orders of magnitude warmer. He feels strangely exposed under it, and hurries him back to the kitchen.

-

1966  
“Walter, I don’t care if you’re queer, all right?” He says it more fiercely than he means to. “I’ve seen prejudice ruin a lot of lives, and I refuse to hurt you that way.” He hugs Walter tightly, jarring a muffled squeak of surprise out of him. “I’ll be damned if I’ll let anyone.” 

He can feel tears gathering in his chest, but he laughs when Walter finally says, “That’s wonderful, Hollis. You’re also suffocating me.” He eases up, and grins at the kid.

“You know, I was hoping you’d get along when I introduced you, but this…”

Walter flushes scarlet. “It was sort of a shock.”

Hollis throws his head back and laughs. “I’ll bet it was, kiddo.” 

-

1975  
Oh Jesus Christ he’s covered in blood. It’s pooling at his feet like rain and even though the most cursory glance tells Hollis that none of it’s his, he smells like fire and he can’t stop shaking. Hollis pulls him into his arms and holds him tight, tows him to the bathroom and bathes him like a little kid. He never stops talking to him, soft and soothing. He doesn’t know what to do so he just treats the kid like he’s in shock. Keeps him warm and keeps him close. He spends the next few years putting him back together.

-

1977  
Walter had been taking his first baby steps back into action when the Keene Act passed. Hollis figures that maybe it’s for the best, watching the boys as he takes his turn doing the dishes. Dan has an arm around Walter, and Phantom is resting his grizzled head on his knee. Tears prick at Hollis’s eyes to see the easy, mindless way Walter rubs his ears, obviously not thinking about the shock of impact or the spraying warmth of blood.

-

1986  
Hollis always makes comfort food when the kids have been making their duty-visit to Adrian. They come back needing to be warmed and soothed, and as he explains to Charlie as she watches him cut pine trees into the crust, an apple pie fits the bill exactly. 

Dan had always wanted kids. After poor little Blair Roche, Walter had refused to consider anything of the kind, but on the flight to Karnak, Dan had looked Walter right in the eye and said, “If we survive this, we’re adopting.” He had promised, and in about three weeks they’ll have her for keeps. 

She stands back as Hollis opens the oven and puts the pie in, her little hands clasped behind her back for safekeeping. The sound of a key in the lock makes her leap away like a monkey to greet Dan and Walter, who swing her into their arms and surprise themselves into real smiles.


End file.
